


as the mercury keeps rising

by warptimeandspace



Series: our ceiling is your floor [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Camp Half Blood, F/F, Gen, alternate lightning thief, baker hestia, child of hestia percy, percy grows up safe and supported au, teacher sally, two moms percy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warptimeandspace/pseuds/warptimeandspace
Summary: "Wait," Percy says, "What's that?"He points to a small clay statue, less than two feet tall, of a woman tossing something into a fire. Her head is covered by a veil, crowned with roses. It's not a perfect mirror of the face Percy knows, the nose too small and the lips too thin, but it's close. It's very, very close.
Relationships: Hestia & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Grover Underwood, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson/Hestia
Series: our ceiling is your floor [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974664
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67





	as the mercury keeps rising

Percy grows up surrounded by love.

He lives at home, with his mothers. He is always safe and he is never sent away in the name of hopes and dreams and protection. He goes to the elementary school down the road from Mama's bakery, across the street from Mom's school. He gets suspended often, but not expelled. 

It's hard because school is always hard for Percy, but he has help. Sometimes he sits on the floor of his Mom's office while she holds office hours, talking with the big kids about his homework, listening to the big kids talk about the books Sally is teaching them to read. Sometimes he sits with his Mama in the bakery's cafe, the words on his homework always easier to read after she walks him through it.

Percy knows that there's a secret. It's the kind of secret that explains why Percy can reach into the oven to get out cookies without gloves, even though his teachers say that you have to be so careful around hot things. It's the kind of secret that explains why their condo is so big even though it looks tiny from the street. The kind of secret that explains why his parents are so scared of thunderstorms and of the birds that sit on the fence outside of his school.

Percy knows that he's a secret too.

Hestia gives him a sword, teaches him how to hold it, how to swing it. It looks like one of the pens on his school supply list, boring on purpose until he takes the cap off.

"You'll know when you need it," Hestia says, sounding a little sad. "It's sharp, so be careful. Okay, baby?"

"Okay," Percy says. "Do you want to play Legos?"

Hestia holds out her hand. They play Legos.

\---

When Percy is in the sixth grade, he hears his parents whispering in the living room. It's late, Percy is supposed to be asleep, but he wanted a glass of water and now he was curious.

They sound scared, which scares Percy. They're sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, their hands linked together.

"Maybe I should go," Hestia says, "Maybe it would be safer."

"Don't you dare," Sally says, “Don’t go."

"I don't want to,” Hestia says quickly, "Love, I don't want to. But what if it makes him safer? What if we didn't have to worry about what happened to him while he was at school?"

“We’ll always about what happens to him while he's at school; we’re his parents. I'm more worried about what happens when he gets home from school, when we’re sleeping. What happens when you aren't home, Hestia?"

Hestia takes a nervous breath, holding Sally’s hand to her cheek. "Maybe we should talk about camp again," She says.

"It's that bad?” Sally asks, "I thought you said that would be the last resort? That’s not a great fix either.”

"I'm just concerned,” Hestia says, "My wards are good, but camp is off-limits. There isn't anywhere safer."

"There's only one week left of school," Sally says, "We can wait one more week, right?"

Percy tiptoes back to his room. He climbs under the covers. 

He doesn't sleep. 

\---

On the last day of school, Percy goes on a field trip. It's to a museum which means that it's going to be boring, but his parents are going to be very excited to hear about what he saw. Not the best, but also not the worst. 

"Percy!" Grover, Percy's best friend calls, "Hurry up!"

"It's not like the statues are gonna make a run for it," Percy says, jogging to catch up with the rest of the class.

"No," Grover whispers, "But you're going to get us in trouble for ditching and that's worse!"

"Mr. Underwood." Mr. Brunner says, "Do you have a comment on the subject of this painting?"

Grover swallows, "It's gross?"

The class laughs and Grover turns pink.

"Not exactly what I was looking for," Mr. Brunner says, "What about you, Mr. Jackson?"

Grover is right: the painting is gross. It's disgusting, a monstrous-looking man eating a baby. It feels dangerous to look at, the kind of dangerous tied to secrets.

"He's eating his own kid," Percy says, "It's from our classics unit."

"Good," Mr. Brunner says, "Do you remember who it is?"

Percy remembers.

"I forgot," Percy says, "Sorry."

Mr. Brunner sighs, not surprised but disappointed nonetheless. "That's alright, Mr. Jackson, thank you for participating in the discussion. For future reference, this is the Titan Kronos eating Zeus, the king of the gods. Does anybody have any questions about the pieces seen in this hall before we move to the next room?"

There’s a stretch of uncomfortable silence, followed by Mr. Brunner gesturing for the class to move onto the next exhibit.

"Wait," Percy says, "What's that?"

He points to a small clay statue, less than two feet tall, of a woman tossing something into a fire. Her head is covered by a veil, crowned with roses. It's not a perfect mirror of the face Percy knows, the nose too small and the lips too thin, but it's close. It's very, very close.

"That is a sculpture of the goddess Hestia, patron of hearth and home. She’s famous for being one of the Greek Goddesses who swore to never marry, much like Athena," Mr. Brunner says, "You are all very lucky to see this, very few sculptures of her remain."

As the rest of the class starts to filter to the next room, Percy hangs back. He looks at this clay recreation of his mother. He's not surprised, he knew they were special. He'd even sort of known that there was a goddess Hestia, though looking back Percy thinks he must have slept through that lesson.

"Perseus Jackson," an unfamiliar voice says, "I think you'll remember that it’s against the rules for you to stray from the group." 

Percy looks away from the statue and sees a woman staring at him. She is almost as scary as the panting they were studying before, with huge yellow eyes and leathery-looking skin.

“I'm only a minute behind my group," Percy says slowly. "I have permission."

He doesn’t, but that’s not the point. 

"Did you have permission when you stole the bolt, Perseus?"

This is the moment Hestia had been talking about, the moment where Percy pulls a ballpoint pen out of his pocket. A moment of evolution. 

"I don't want any trouble," Percy says, pen still capped in his hand, fist tucked against his side. "I'm going to go back to class now."

In an instant, the woman changes into something terrifying, with sharp teeth and claws reaching for him.

Percy uncaps the sword and swings in the same second, a movement the monster isn't prepared for. There's a hiss as Percy cuts through her, sand falling to the ground.

"Percy?"

Percy turns. Grover is looking at him, his eyes very clearly catching on the sword. He doesn't look surprised, just troubled. That might be worse though.

"I need to go," Percy says, "Are you coming with?"

\---

Percy doesn’t leave Manhattan often. They don’t usually vacation out of town; the bakery requires babysitting and his parents are boring. Sometimes Percy ribs them about it, but he feels safest at home too. 

Sitting in a car, driving away from Manhattan, Percy feels more unbalanced than he ever has in his life. 

“Percy?” Grover asks, “You good?” 

“Mm?” Percy asks, turning away from the window, “Sorry. I’m fine. How do you know Mr. Brunner?” He gestures to the front of the car, Mr. Brunner pretending not to hear him speak. 

“Family friend,” Grover says. “What did you do to that lady?” 

“Nothing,” Percy says, “I didn’t do anything.” 

Everybody knows that Percy did _something,_ that he turned the monster to sand with a sword he pretended he didn’t have. That they all know the world is not as normal as they’ve been saying it is. 

Thankfully, Grover doesn’t seem mad at Percy. He seems sad, why Percy hasn’t figured out yet. “Okay,” Grover says, “You watched any TV recently?” 

Percy sighs in relief. “Have you seen the new Batman yet?” 

Percy is arguing against Scarecrow as a worthy Batman villain when he feels like the car drives through six inches of Jell-o. He freezes, looking around to try and figure out what the hell just happened to him. 

“It’s okay,” Grover says, reaching to set a hand on Percy’s shoulder. “It’s like that for everybody the first time they pass through the barrier.” 

Percy looks out the window. Down the road, he sees what looks like a summer camp, with cabins and fields and themed décor. 

Oh. 

“Where are we?” Percy asks. 

“Somewhere safe,” Mr. Brunner says as he parks the car, “Come on out, Percy Jackson. There is much to show you.”

Mr. Brunner and Grover lead Percy to a big blue house, the kind of house that lives in children’s books instead of real life. It’s pretty in an unreal sort of way, the white trim too clean, the blue on just the wrong side of oversaturated. 

A man is sitting on the porch, sitting on a wooden rocker sipping a Diet Coke with a sour expression on his face. When he sees Percy, his eyes narrow. 

It feels like falling down a hill, like taking a step and losing your shoes, like being stuck in a snowstorm without even a sweatshirt. 

“Percy,” Grover says, “This is Mr. D, he’s the camp director.” 

Percy feels seen in a raw, dangerous sort of way. 

“Peter Johnson,” Mr. D says, dismissive, “I suppose I should welcome you to camp.” 

Then he smiles, just a little, and Percy relaxes. 

“Thanks,” Percy says, “Quick question, where am I? I didn’t sign up for sleep away camp.” 

“Percy,” Mr. Brunner says, “Did your mother tell you anything?”

The answer was yes and no at the same time. Yes, Sally had told him to come home safe every time he left the bakery. Yes, Hestia had told him to be careful as she taught him to hold a sword.

No, Hestia had not told Percy that she was a goddess. No, Sally had not warned him that someday he would be ushered into his history teacher’s car after killing a monster. They had not told him anything about the camp he was standing in, the idea of it only familiar because he had eavesdropped on his parents. 

“I don’t know,” Percy says, because it feels easier. 

“Mm,” Mr. D says, “Well, Perseus Jackson. You’ve killed one of Hades’ furies today. Your friend,” He gestures to Grover, “is a satyr, if you haven’t figured it out yet. Your history teacher, Chiron, a horse.” 

“I am a centaur,” Mr. Brunner, Chiron interrupts, unclipping a carabiner from a loop on his slacks. In the space of a blink, he changes, his tan pants melting into a chestnut horse. “But other than that, so good so far.” 

Grover sheepishly takes off his hat, little horns sticking up from the top of his curly hair. It’s not as much of a shock as it should be. Grover eats oranges whole. 

“The Greek Gods are alive and well,” Mr. D continues as if Chiron had never spoken. “Shocker, I know.” 

\--- 

Grover gives Percy the tour. They walk past volleyball courts, climbing walls, and strawberry fields. There’s a beach, an arena for fighting, and a tree twenty feet tall. 

“And here,” Grover says, gesturing to an eclectic grouping of buildings, “Are the cabins. There’s one for each of the twelve Olympian gods.”

Grover names all of the cabins as he points toward them. 

“You said your mom was a teacher? She teaches English, right?” 

“Yeah,” Percy says, “At Goode.” 

“Cool,” Grover says, “Then for your dad, maybe Ares? You didn’t get a scratch on you when you fought the fury. Or Apollo?” 

“Maybe,” Percy says, “What happens to kids who don’t have Olympians for parents?” 

“There’s not a whole lot of them,” Grover says, “They usually stay in the Hermes Cabin.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Percy sees _something_. He pauses and turns, facing the hearth in the middle of the quad head-on. 

“Grover,” Percy says, “Can I take a breather? I think I’d just like to sit here for a moment.” 

Grover looks hesitant until he sees a girl walk around the other side of the hearth. She’s too young, maybe elementary school age, but Percy knows her. 

“It’s alright, Grover,” Hestia says. 

“Okay,” Grover says, “I’ll have somebody grab you for dinner, alright? It’s in like half an hour. Thank you, Lady Hestia.” 

Percy launches himself at Hestia. She’s small, but strong and doesn’t buckle under the weight. 

“Shh,” She soothes, “You’re okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Percy says. 

“No,” Hestia says, “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s my fault, I suppose, but I’m not sorry either. I could never be sorry for loving you or your mother, alright?” 

“Okay,” Percy says. 

“This is going to be hard,” Hestia says, 

“I figured,” 

“I know,” Hestia says, “You can do it. Your home is with your mother, and with me, but it’s also here. That means here, you have power. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hey gays, ily and thanks for reading. title again from son by sleeping at last. the artworks referenced in this work are actually from the modern era (i didn't want to open my art history textbooks to find period work. my b)  
> the painting is saturn devouring his son by francisco goya (1819-1823 in oil paint) it is indeed, gross.  
> i had a reference for the sculpture but i forgot to save it! as soon as i figure out where i saw it i'll list it here because it was really pretty :(  
> i'm on tumblr @warptimeandspace just like i was last week


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